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FIFTH
PLACE
It Doesn’t Matter Now
By Ruth Nott
Chiefland, Florida
As we ventured into the attic again
the dust of remembrance filled my lungs
with the bittersweet fragrance of our lives.
Pulling open the old dresser
I knew they would still be there...
those tiny little brown and white oxfords
that each of our boys wore as babes...
never bronzed as others would have done...
but still almost alive with their presence.
Holding them to my cheek
I could still smell the powder
on their tiny newborn feet.
There’s nothing else left of him,
only those tiny little shoes
which all the others wore as well.
He was here too, a part of us,
for so short a time, different, fragile,
loving and so loved...and then gone.
Why is there nothing else left?
There in the corner
was the bowling ball box where she sat
as I pushed the shutter button
and listened to the whirr of the Polaroid
pushing the new print into my hand...
a lifetime ago.
I could hardly see the box
for the clutter all around it,
tiny crutches and leg braces
long outgrown,
piles of dusty stuffed animals,
lonely in their exile.
That box had held something solid once.
and round, and nearly unbreakable.
Then it held her,
soft, flexible, and fragile,
already broken.
She was smiling of course.
She knew how to smile no matter what.
As I turned, I tripped and
nearly fell into your arms,
but caught myself
before I had to feel your touch.
A bit of color caught my eye
and his notebook fell into my hands
from off the shelf above.
He would be noticed too it seemed.
He was the first after all.
Pages tumbled out, pencil art, and ink,
every kind of dinosaur known to man.
Some were smudged, yet some were
brilliant in their detail and so alive!
Where had this talent gone
when his polymorphic life
drew him away?
Does he still feel that
passion for the primeval?
There was another talent too,
one which no one knew for many years.
The last, but not the least,
also played with pencil art,
and lovely superhero ladies
danced for him in graceful poses
flying through the air.
But his talent also seemed to wilt
beneath the strain of life’s complexities,
the twisting and turning of the path,
the desire to be
the supportive son and brother,
and the surprise
at the weight of that burden.
The joy and delight he found
playing with those little matchbox cars
that go skittering across this dusty floor,
unearthed by our shuffling feet,
his sparkling eyes,his rippling laughter,
the smile that melted my heart so many times...
Where are they now?
Your back is turned
and always seemed to be so...
Do you not see I need you now?
You never could see...
or, is it that I don’t see you...
your needs...
the pain that life has inflicted
on you as well as I...
I guess when the pain becomes
too much to bear
we’re blinded
to what’s right before our eyes...
or just refuse to see.
But it doesn’t matter now.
The dust has settled.
Copyright (c) 2003 for
the author, all rights reserved. |
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